Bridge of Bones
by ArkTaisch
Summary: When the Black Fairy is banished to the dark realm, she takes her son with her. Rumplestiltskin grows up in darkness with his mother, only able to escape when he is summoned for a deal.
1. The Dark One

**Author's note:** Happy Halloween... or something. Actually, this is me recycling an old concept/plot I had for ArmageddonMUSH. Since the game is long dead and my novelization never saw the light of day... here it is again in fanfic form.

Content warning: violence, infanticide, child abuse, mention of rape

* * *

 _If I sever his destiny, we can be together, and I will still be strong enough to protect him._

Rash words, that she swore to live up to. With a sweep of magic, Fiona snatched the bassinet from the table, securing her son moments before the portal swallowed them both. She landed in darkness. All around her, a dreadful emptiness pressed against her skin, shocking contrast to the bright colors of the Sacred Vault of the fairies.

"Home." Fiona licked dry lips, her voice hoarse as if breaking through an eon of silence. "This is home. Or I will make it so..." She groped blindly at the blanket covering her son, finding the tiny wriggle of his arm, the bare skin of his fingers.

Felt the life seeping away from him as his grip weakened.

"No!" She called power to her hands, feeding it to her child. Had she done this to him, cutting the thread of his fate? Or was this the Blue Fairy, determined to take him away from his mother? A mother judged evil, judged unworthy, to be cast out forever...

She could almost hear that sanctimonious voice condemning her, wand raised, this time in summoning. A whisper of thought touched her, _The child is innocent. Will you doom him to eternal darkness?_

"I will protect him!" Fiona wrapped her power around her child's soul, but the wand's call was too strong — tied to the frayed end of a Savior's cut fate. Blue sought to pull back his soul and rebind him to his destiny.

"Don't listen to her," she begged him. _Stay with me._ She remembered the words of an old lullaby and sang brokenly, "I cried and called my sweet bairn's name..."

He had no name. She hadn't given him one, so obsessed had she become with the prophecy of his death.

No name.

That was it! Fiona's lips curved in triumph as she lifted her son and whispered in his ear, "Rumplestiltskin is your name."

The unlikeliest patchwork of syllables. One that Blue would never guess. A name to anchor him to his mother. The last connection to the world of light snapped. They were home. Mother and son, locked together in a realm with no escape.

* * *

He grew on mother's milk and dark magic. There was nothing in the dark realm except what Fiona could create for them. She feared for his humanity, the half he had inherited from his father, but Rumplestiltskin thrived in his small, odd way.

The dark fairy dust that was bound to every particle of rock sang to him, he said, once he was old enough to speak. It spoke to him in his dreams, alive in a way that eluded Fiona. She drew from its power to conjure a crude cottage, a distorted image of the one she and Malcolm had dwelt in so briefly before... before the fairies had flown in one midwinter's night to destroy their family.

Did he mourn them for dead? Fiona had no way of knowing. She wondered if he regretted marrying her. Even now, she didn't regret taking mortal form for him. Fairies were forbidden from bearing children, but she had wanted more than anything to share that with Malcolm — the wonder of a new life, created by them both.

Useless thoughts. Fiona pitted her magic against that of the realm, carving out a small domain for them, a web of tunnels growing inch by inch. They formed a pattern, a sigil of chance that she remembered from her studies. She knew more fairy lore than most fairies, and this was their best hope of freedom.

* * *

"Here, Rumple. Lie down here." Fiona knelt on the floor, spreading the threadbare remains of his blanket over the circle engraved with his name.

Rumplestiltskin nodded and obeyed. He touched the blanket, the material warm with an alien softness. All his life, as far as he could remember, his mother had clothed him in garments conjured out of crushed rock and magic. They felt slippery against his skin and glittered with shadows of a thousand hues. The blanket was a reminder of another world, another life. He closed his eyes, emptying his thoughts.

"That's good. That's very good."

He let himself drift, listening. Listening to the murmuring rock. It sang of fear. Of pain and loss. He felt the notes resonate in his bones.

"There's another world out there, a world of life and light. We just need to find the way."

Was there? He tried to imagine it. He asked the rocks if it was true.

 _The air changed. No longer dull and still, it breathed over his skin, caressed him with unfamiliar scents. He opened his eyes to see the darkness above him broken by tiny points of light. Then a shadow fell over him, and everything went red in a haze of agony..._

Rumplestiltskin screamed and scrambled to his feet, lunging away from the circle.

His mother caught him, held him and soothed him. "Hush, son, hush. You're safe, you're safe, Mama's here." He sniffled and cried into her chest, unable to speak. "It's all right. You did so well. You were gone, just for a moment, but you did it, Rumple. My brave boy. You found a way out. It will be better next time, I promise."

 _Next time?_

She was wrong. It wasn't better. It was only that he got used to the journey and better at understanding what he saw on the other side. The points of light were stars. The darkness overhead was night. Was _sky_. Sometimes he found himself inside, and that was only strange because _people_ were strange — people other than himself and his mother. Creatures lived there — such diversity as the dark realm had never seen. Plants. Water. Soil.

He learned to extend his stay, bit by bit. Learned to share his senses inside a borrowed skin. Absorbed more knowledge of the alien world.

But death found him, every time. He didn't belong there in that other realm. He shared a life with one already there, a life on the brink, its thread cut open for him to catch hold of with the spell his mother had taught him.

He felt the anguish and dismay of the soul as it left the world, wishing he could help, wishing he could give it comfort. Each time it slipped his grasp, and he lost sight of it as he fell back into the dark realm.

 _Next time._

When Rumplestiltskin was twelve, he succeeded for the first time in pulling his host back with him. He awoke in the circle on his knees, a tiny body cradled in his arms. Water dripped off them both. "Please, Mother... save him..."

"Rumple, what have you done?" His mother rushed to his side and took the infant from him, passing a hand aglow with magic over it from head to toe.

Rumplestiltskin shivered, staring at her with wide eyes. His heart sank as she sighed and shook her head.

"I'm sorry. He's dead. His soul has gone..."

"No!" Rumplestiltskin threw out his hands to snatch the infant back. His fingers tingled, and a glittering stream of dust puffed out, dispersing into the air and the walls. Startled, he rocked back on his heels and stared at his hands. "What...?"

And that was how they discovered the true nature of dark fairy dust and the dark realm: it was made out of the deaths of lost children. The baby drowned by his parents — his suffering had created the darkest of magic.

Rumplestiltskin was horrified by the knowledge, but his mother saw in it their salvation.

"Don't you see?" she said, a desperate gleam in her eyes. "We can use them to build a road from here back to the living world. Rumple, you must bring me more..."

"More...?"

"They're dead anyway, but if you bring me the body before the last breath has left it, I can capture that power." Because that last breath existed somewhere on the threshold between one realm and another, it could act as a bridge.

A horrible plan, to get out of a horrible place. Rumplestiltskin ran away to the furthest tunnel and huddled against the unlit wall, pressing his ear to the rock to hear the voices trapped inside. So many of them. His mother had dug deep into the realm and found no end to it yet. How long had it taken to grow to this size? How many deaths? He suspected they were not all human, but blood called to blood and it was the human voices he heard.

 _Save us. Avenge us. Remember us._ Like dust, the scattered thoughts of the lost. A longing for escape, for oblivion, for justice. Dust had no capacity to act. But he did.

Nodding to himself, he clambered to his feet and returned to his mother. "All right. I'll do it."

She built her road her way; he built his own his way. Hers was a stairway paved brick by brick with the dead. Rumplestiltskin yearned for the freedom to act. To be trapped and bound for death, again and again, was a nightmare worse than the dark realm — home, even as bleak a home as that, was still _home_. Instead of a pathway, he built a shape for himself to exist in its own time on the upper world.

It was a slow and delicate process, taking a heavy toll on his mind before he was done.

The first time he stepped onto the earth with his own feet, he found himself in the aftermath of a battle — little more than a raid, really. The air was thick with smoke as the huts burned. A fishing village and a monastery, sacked by the pirates from over the sea. It was an old story: the men were slain, the women raped, and the babies dead with their brains dashed against the nearest wall.

Rumplestiltskin stared at the corpse whose soul he had followed here, and saw in his mind's eye the raider picking the infant up one-handed, gripped tight around its ankles — one swift motion and it was done, while the mother screamed as she was dragged away.

Fury consumed him.

 _This could not stand._ Dark magic surged through his new-made form, and his rage manifested in fire. As a demon cloaked in shadow, he swept through the ruins, blasting every living thing he met. But his time in this realm was limited, and he was drawn back into darkness, leaving a few scattered survivors behind.

He fell in a heap on the circle of his name, curled in around himself, images of murder filling his mind. He couldn't breathe properly; the air choked him and his chest was too tight.

Then his mother was there, holding him. "Rumple! What... what happened?"

He whimpered wordlessly.

She stroked his hair soothingly, though he was too old now for such comforts. She kept her voice gentle as she said, "You came back empty-handed."

At that, he shuddered, opening his hands and staring at them, then wiping them frantically on his shirt. Not empty. Couldn't she see the blood?

"There's nothing there," she told him.

The blood was gone, vanished with his other shape, the one built out of dark fairy dust. He had thought to wear it like a mask, but instead it had overwhelmed him. All the pain of the dark realm demanded expression, and he was merely its instrument.

Later, he found the words to explain it to his mother. She wanted him to halt his experimentation.

"My clever, clever boy." She smiled at him with pride and a touch of indulgence. "You've already accomplished so much, but you mustn't give in to impatience. My way may be slower, but we'll get there in the end."

"But they're dying _now_. If I can do something... I know I can control it. I just need to be stronger."

"It's not your responsibility to save them, Rumple. I fear you'll destroy yourself in the effort. Please, I cut your fate so this wouldn't happen... don't sacrifice yourself for nothing."

"They're not _nothing_ ," he muttered. In the end, his mother's opposition only fueled his determination. Though he continued to fetch her the _ingredients_ for her work, he also refined his own spells. More practice, that was all he needed. After a year, he tried again. This time, it would—

 _Death._ The need for vengeance consumed his consciousness again. Wicked step-mother and wicked step-sisters gasped and dropped at the touch of dark magic, while a too-young mother shrieked and cowered. The sight brought Rumplestiltskin back to himself, enough to seize the smothered baby from the cradle as he was pulled back to the dark realm.

"That could have gone better," he said as he handed the corpse over to his mother. Three more deaths added to his tally. Only the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his guilty conscience.

"I told you so, dear."

Again.

Death by slow neglect. The family already had three children, and the fourth was a girl. Well enough in fat times, but not this season, not when the mother's limited supply of milk was all that saved her older brother (who at a year and a half should have been weaned). The dark mask burned with outrage on behalf of the starveling.

 _No! Not again!_ Rumplestiltskin fought his way to the surface, took the reins of the magic. Suddenly the hovel was silent... and mice scattered underfoot, fleeing his wrath.

"You transformed them?" His mother was amused.

"They were all starving," Rumplestiltskin said shortly. "As mice their store of food will last longer." What choice had they had? There wasn't enough for all of them to survive. What kind of world forced people to sacrifice one child to save another? "I thought you said the fairies were meant to help people..."

His mother made a face. "We — they — lack the power to help everyone, so they only help the _important_ ones."

"'Important'! Who decides? How?"

"Reul Ghorm, of course. The Blue Fairy. She is guided by the Light to see which pieces will best serve the pattern." His mother kept her voice even, but Rumplestiltskin could hear the anger that ran underneath.

"Is that... is that why she banished us here?"

"It matters not. She may have banished us, but she can't keep us imprisoned forever. Come, see how far I have progressed."

The stairs spiraled up, farther than Rumplestiltskin had realized. He reached the top and touched the wall, trying to guess how much further was left to go. _Too far._ He would not give up the mask.

Again.

The child's throat was slit. Rumplestiltskin slid out of the dying to face the soon-to-be-dead, the knife flying to his hand. But the murderer dropped to his knees and his words pierced even the dark mask's anger to stop Rumplestiltskin in his tracks.

"Dark One, I beseech you! Our lives are yours, if only you avenge us as you did Yanniksbay."

Rumplestiltskin stared. This was a _summoning?_

"They say you destroyed them, the accursed ones, the monsters from across the sea... the ones who even now assail our village..."

And now he registered the noise coming in through the narrow window as the shouts and screams of battle, the sharp clang of weapons. Here was a hut, the crude door barred — nothing that would stand against determined warriors.

"Please, we have no other hope..." The man's words were lost in a fit of coughing. He clutched his side. "They say you hear the dead... well, I'm close enough..."

"Yes," Rumplestiltskin snarled. He snapped the man's neck before blasting the door down to emerge upon a scene all too reminiscent of his first such visit. But this time, he reined in the darkness enough to discriminate between targets.

"Flies?"

"A swarm of flies. Let them taste the death they caused."

"I hope this doesn't become a habit. It's all very well to be worshiped, but accepting human sacrifices is beyond the pale!"

"How was I to know they'd be such fools?" snapped Rumplestiltskin.

"The perversity of the human spirit knows no bounds," his mother said lightly. Then she sobered. "You were born to be a Savior, Rumple. Even with your fate cut, you mustn't allow such abominations in your name."

"They don't know my name."

"Ah yes. 'Dark One', was it? Nevertheless..."

"I know," he said. "I'll make sure they learn better."

"As to that, I may have a divination spell to help you."

The key was to arrive _before_ the sacrifice was made, and then to stop it. Authoritatively. With all the power of the Dark One behind his threat. Deals could be made — with the living, for the living. Darkness demanded a price, but a sufficient loss could satisfy it as well as bloodshed. As Rumplestiltskin gained more control over his monstrous avatar, he was able to stay out for longer and travel over a wider range. Having gradually built up an imprint in the living realm, he was able to use the name of the 'Dark One' as his gate, as long as it was spoken by a desperate enough soul.

He didn't answer every time, but he answered often enough that the stories of the Dark One spread across the realm. At first he was offered babies, but soon it became known that the Dark One would trade in a variety of items precious or rare. He collected and studied books of magic, learning potioncraft to augment his native sorcery that was born of dark fairy dust.

But he couldn't divine an intention that wasn't there. Without a summoning, the deaths of lost children still drew his presence — too late to preserve their lives. In those cases, he had no heart to step across the boundary of their skins. He sealed their last breath inside their lungs and brought them to his mother.

Another century, another deal.

A girl was locked in a tower, surrounded by baskets of straw.

"What's this for?" Rumplestiltskin stared at the spinning wheel that was the only other object adorning the room. Was she offering it in trade? What would the Dark One do with a spinning wheel?

Turn straw into gold, she told him. For someone who looked no more than thirteen winters old, she had great presence of mind, not put off at all by the Dark One's monstrous appearance. On the contrary, she looked relieved.

"My father made a drunken boast that his daughter could spin straw into gold. The king is cruel and greedy: he heard and locked me up, as you see. I have until dawn to spin the gold for him, or else..." She made a throat-slitting gesture and grimaced. "You're my only hope."

"I take it you have no such ability. Why make such a foolish boast?"

"It was something I used to say, but I only meant it as a joke. My father is a spendthrift and a gambler. I always hide a bit of what he earns. If I didn't save it, we'd have been starving on the streets a long time ago. So when he asks where I find the money, I tell him I spin it out of straw. If I told him the truth, he'd beat me for stealing."

Rumplestiltskin gave the wheel an experimental turn. "Hmm. And should I help you..."

"You can have my first-born." At Rumplestiltskin's dubious look, she amended hastily, "When I have one, that is."

"Really, dearie? You'd part so easily with your own flesh and blood?"

"If I die tomorrow, I won't ever have a first-born."

"Fair point, well made. Very pragmatic of you." And she was hardly the only one to think that way, or his mother would still be deep in the dark realm, rather than on the verge of breaking into this one. "No. Not this time. You know how to spin?"

"Yes, of course, but only wool, not straw."

"Well, then. You teach me how to spin — wool, not straw — and in return I'll take care of your little gold problem." And exact the true price from the king, he thought, for putting her in this position. "Oh! And you promise not to have any first-borns until you're ready to care for them. Do we have a deal?"

"If you promise to stop the king from kidnapping me again."

"Deal."

"Deal!"

He conjured wool from the girl's supply at home, and she taught him how to use the wheel to draw out the fibers and twist them into yarn. He found himself fascinated by the magic inherent in taking separate, weak strands and turning them into a greater whole. Like taking moments and twisting them together into a lifetime. Or straw into gold thread.

The deal was done, the girl saved, the king's coffers replenished, and Rumplestiltskin acquired a new hobby. And if the king went mad from wearing too much gold thread, rumor warned that it was terrible bad luck to try to extort magic from innocent children. After all, even a child could summon the Dark One.

A year later, his mother finally crossed the boundary between realms. Her stairway grew into a one-room shed, then a small house, and as the years passed, more rooms were added. Walls. Towers. Completely absorbed in her work, she had forgotten about _escape_.

Rumplestiltskin lived in what had become a castle, sometimes not seeing his mother for weeks or months at a time while she was lost in some new corner of construction. Content enough with his spinning wheel, his library, his workshop, and his deals, he too had forgotten his hope for any life beyond this one.

Another century, another deal.

"My life is wretched. I'll do anything to get out of here."

"Anything?"

A widow wanted escape. With her husband killed in the Ogre War and no other family left to her, her life had become a miserable grind of poverty, crushed by duties she had no taste for. Such as her infant son.

"I know magic comes with a price. Here. You can have him." She thrust the cloth-wrapped bundle at Rumplestiltskin, forcing him to take the baby or let it fall.

He stared at her, reading the truth of her desire. She wanted freedom, adventure, travel — without a helpless infant weighing her down. He took the bundle from her, thinking that a wild goose traveled great distances across the world, and had adventure enough dodging wolves and eagles, not to mention human hunters. He lifted a hand, calling the magic to transform her, when tiny fingers grabbed at Rumplestiltskin's nose.

He blinked down, seeing two bright brown eyes staring up at him in fearless wonder. Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat, then whispered, "What's his name?"

"Baelfire."

"Ah." A strong name, he thought. The child deserved better than a woman who didn't want to be a mother, but for his sake, Rumplestiltskin decided to spare her. "Very well. Come to the village tavern tonight. You'll find the new life you seek."

Magic couldn't make anyone fall in love, but it could find potential mates easily enough. Rumplestiltskin tugged at the threads of fate and ensured that the widow and the pirate found each other. She left for adventure with Killian Jones on the _Jolly Roger_ , while the Dark One stole Baelfire away to the Dark Castle.

"He can't stay here." Fiona manifested herself in the room Rumplestiltskin had converted into a nursery. "Why haven't you found him a family yet?"

"I am his family!"

"How are you even feeding him? He looks too young to be weaned."

"I have a potion to change cow's milk into something suitable for humans."

Fiona sighed, giving her son a pitying look. "Why, Rumple? You never tried to keep one before. Why now? Why this one?"

"I don't know," he said sullenly. "I just..." Every reason sounded inadequate as soon as he thought of it. "I can be a father, if I want."

"And that's what you want?"

Countless children, living and dead, had passed through his hands. Just this once — he wanted more. He wanted to matter to someone, as more than just a means to an end. He wanted someone to mean something to him. To share more than a few stolen moments with a child of his own. He scowled at his mother. "What if it is?"

"Oh, Rumple. I hope this isn't some passing fancy. You of all people know you can't just abandon this child if you get bored."

"I know that!" He held Baelfire protectively to his chest.

"Very well. So be it." The truth was, Fiona was the one who had no capacity to care for a child. After so many lifetimes spent as an architect of dark magic, her touch had become lethal to mortals. "I wish I could help you more."

"I don't need help, Mother. You raised me alone, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I wish you had known your father as well. You and the child would both fare better if... Humans marry for a reason, Rumple."

"As if anyone would have me," he scoffed.

"And what happens when you go out? It's hardly wise for the Dark One to cart an infant around."

"I know that! I have safeguards in place."

"More dark magic. Look what it's done to you, and you're only half-human, while this child is fully mortal."

Rumplestiltskin couldn't meet her eyes. He knew she wasn't wrong: the castle was already full of dark magic, and every additional spell he cast to protect Baelfire dimmed the light in his soul. If Rumplestiltskin wasn't careful enough, Baelfire would become as monstrous as his adoptive father.

"Fine," he conceded. "I'll... I'll find a caretaker for him, the next time someone summons me for a deal."


	2. Let's Make a Deal

**Author's note:** I've put Belle's meeting with Dreamy earlier in her timeline, during her trip to Arendelle. Obviously, that changes the conversation she has with him, as she would be someone dreaming of love rather than someone who's recently lost it. Blue knows about her "meddling" and thinks Belle is an agent of chaos, obviously!

Also, I lied about this story being two chapters. Looks like it will be another one or two more than that, lol. Let's see how much of it I can get done before November (gonna be working on my s7 rewrite for NaNoWriMo).

* * *

The lines on the map, contours separated by time, marked the death of the Frontlands. Poring over the latest reports (the latest losses), Belle inked in the shrunken border, praying that this time it would stand. Perhaps Prince Gaston's forces would turn the tide.

Leaving the map to dry on the table, Belle went to the window. She wasn't allowed anywhere near the battlefront, but when the wind blew in from the north, she could smell the smoke even from the library tower. If only she could actually go out there herself, she was sure she could make a difference: not through fighting, but through knowledge. She didn't believe the ogres were the mindless beasts that Gaston called them — she had seen his eyes in the Mirror of Souls and knew that _he_ was the real monster.

The ogres had only begun attacking in earnest a month after Gaston had tortured and terrorized one of their children. Gaston and Belle's father blamed Belle for letting the ogre child escape, and she in turn felt guilty for not freeing him sooner. If only they could _talk_ properly to the ogres, she was sure peace was possible!

But no one in their country spoke the ogre tongue. The only scholar that had studied the ogres closely enough to learn their language was Blasius the Chronicler, and the only known copy of his book had been in Lord Merrill's library. Belle and her mother had gone there to consult the book, but the ogres had overrun the village and burned down Lord Merrill's manor. Belle's mother had been killed and Belle herself had lost her memories of that day.

She had defied her father to go all the way to Arendelle's rock trolls to restore those memories, hoping they hid some secret that could end the war. She had failed.

Now, three years later, none of them had the luxury of failure anymore. That was why she had agreed to marry Gaston, even if it meant that the Frontlands would be annexed by Westmark. If it weren't for the ogres, she could have persuaded her father that she had the strength to hold the duke's seat as well as any man. As it was, Maurice's fear led him to cave in too easily to Westmark's demands.

But they hadn't lost yet. If their combined army — even with the addition of a few thousand conscripted peasants — wasn't enough to beat back the ogres, there was also magic in the world...

* * *

"She has sent her reply, my lord." The bishop unfurled the strip of paper and handed it to Maurice. "The messenger bird arrived this morning."

Belle edged around her father's broad form, but he slumped, fist crumpling the paper before she could read the words. Bad news, then.

"She refused us." Maurice sighed. "So that's that."

"But why?" Belle burst out, pushing forward. "The fairies helped Queen Snow against King George. Why won't they help us?"

Maurice restrained her. "I'm sure they have their reasons, love."

The bishop scowled at Belle, his glare reminding her of every disapproving screed he had ever aimed at her. The duke's daughter read too much, questioned too much, and her disrespect was a thorn in the side of the orthodoxy. "King George was the enemy of all Light. He trafficked with demons and allowed heresy to flourish."

"But the ogres..." From all that she had heard, she didn't think George could be that much worse!

"...are a scourge sent by the gods to punish our sins." The bishop eyed Belle in even deeper disapproval. "Some of us have strayed from the path of piety, but with proper _guidance_ , we may cleanse our souls."

"Nonsense! The gods aren't petty and vindictive. Those are mortal failings! The gods are merciful and compassionate. If humans and ogres hate each other, that is our own doing."

"Take care, child," hissed the bishop. "It is not for you to speak for those so far above your station."

"What, as if you don't pretend to speak for them—"

"Belle! That's enough." Her father caught her by the arm. "His reverence has only the best interests of the Frontlands at heart, I'm sure."

Belle gritted her teeth, complying with the minimum of courtesy as she and her father took their leave.

"You know, she's not the only magic user in the realm," Belle said, once they were out of earshot. "There's also—"

"No!" cried Maurice in alarm. "Don't say it. If we make deals with _that_ one, we'll lose any chance of the Blue Fairy's aid."

"If you believe the bishop, we already have. In fact..." Belle smiled in bitter amusement as another possibility occurred to her. "We should send for them both. And tell the Blue Fairy that we've done so. We'll take help from whoever shows up first — if she's so bent on eradicating darkness, let her give us the better deal."

Maurice shuddered. "It's no joking matter, love. The... the Dark One is said to take his payment in children. I won't sell our own people to that demon."

"No, no, Father. I've read about him. He trades in all kinds of valuables and he always honors his deals. Maybe he's not as bad as all that." Or so Belle hoped. She bit her lip, trying to look confident.

Her father furrowed his brows as he looked down at her. "Do you think he'll take gold?"

"If there's a chance he can save us, we have to try."

* * *

Maurice had sent off two more desperate messages. If they didn't arrive in time, if their pleas were turned down again, if Gaston's forces proved unequal to the ogres...

 _If, if, if._ Belle tossed and turned that night, not knowing how many more nights they had before their last walls were breached and the Frontlands fell to the ogres. Gaston, fairies, or the Dark One — in a sense, the Frontlands as an independent entity had already fallen. They couldn't survive without outside help. Gaston, she knew too well. And the Dark One, she had read about in books. As for the fairies, they guarded their secrets, but were known throughout the realm as a force for Light.

Belle had never met one. The closest she had come was second-hand, through a lovesick dwarf she had met in an inn on her way to Arendelle. She remembered him talking about the fairy he was in love with, and envying him that love — knowing that even if she escaped betrothal to Gaston, her own marriage would inevitably be a political arrangement. She had encouraged the dwarf to find his love, his hope, his dreams. The next morning, he had been all smiles.

"He said they were going to run away together. I hope they're happy, wherever they are. Too bad I don't know where that is, or I'd ask Dreamy to ask Nova to convince the Blue Fairy to help us." Belle sighed and tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, but it was a long time before sleep found her — sleep disturbed by nightmares of terrifying violence.

* * *

The duke's war council had barricaded itself in the east wing. Belle could see the smoke and the burning sky from the window. A messenger brought news from the battlefield: Avonlea had fallen. Nothing more stood between them and utter ruin.

Belle glanced at her father, hating the despair that creased his face. "He could be on his way right now."

"It's too late."

But it wasn't. Belle heard the thumping at the door. It had to be the demon sorcerer, this so-called 'Dark One'. The men-at-arms ponderously removed the bar and opened the doors to an empty corridor.

"Well, that was a bit of a letdown." The voice was high, tight with a hint of glee.

Belle gasped, turning to see a stranger slouched in the duke's chair. Almost human in appearance, with a sharp nose and unruly curls of brown, he wore an outlandish high-collared leather coat, frilled like some exotic lizard. His skin glittered darkly to match, almost scaly under the torchlight. His hands flew through the air in extravagent gestures as he mockingly quoted their desperate pleas.

The Dark One.

He batted aside Gaston's sword as if it was nothing, and promised to save them. For a price. But not gold. Belle had guessed as much — though not that he could actually _make_ gold himself. She wondered how it was done, then berated herself for the thought — they could all be dead by nightfall if the Dark One refused his help.

His eyes slid past the men in the room and fixed on Belle. "My price... is her." A black-nailed finger pointed straight at her.

Belle froze. _Me?_

"No!" snapped her father.

Gaston flung out an arm in front of her. "The young lady is engaged. To me."

The Dark One seemed to take sadistic pleasure in their outrage. But then he explained, and Belle breathed again in relief that he was not asking for a wife or concubine. No, he was looking for a caretaker. "For my infant son." He grinned at them, displaying monstrously blackened teeth.

His _son?_ What kind of demon was his son? And why did he need a caretaker? Was there no mother? Or — Belle's imagination flashed back to the gruesome illustrations in her bestiaries — had the child chewed its way out of the womb, as certain creatures were known to do? She shuddered, and the others in the room looked similarly repulsed.

"It's her or no deal."

"Get out." Maurice gave the order, and Gaston pushed Belle back as the Dark One smirked and moved to obey.

Was he really going to abandon them? Didn't her father understand that this was their last hope? Then she remembered his words, _I won't sell my own people to that demon..._ much less his own daughter. But it wasn't up to him. Belle found her voice at last. "Wait! I will go with him."

Her father protested, as did Gaston.

"My family, my friends, they will all live?" She watched his face for any sign of deception, and found only sincerity beneath the mocking exterior.

"You have my word." His voice had gone quiet and he ducked his head as he spoke.

"Then you have mine. I will go with you forever."

This time it was his gaze that searched hers. Then the moment passed, and he wriggled and bounced, emitting a child-like giggle. "Deal!"

After that, she had only time for one last look at her father before the Dark One came up behind her, turning her with a touch to her waist, her back. He escorted her out the door, away from her life. _Forever?_

They walked down one corridor and into another. Belle stumbled at the transition, suddenly dizzy. "What...?"

"We're home." The Dark One pulled open a set of double doors that had not been there before, leading Belle into what could have been a lord's great hall or dining room. The curtains were drawn shut, with only candlelight to illuminate the various tapestries and treasures set out on display. She wanted to linger and take a closer look, but was forced to scurry after her new employer.

He finally stopped in a windowless bedchamber on the floor above. The furnishings were plain, but clean and sturdy: wooden table, shelf, a cot, two chests set against the wall, and a bassinet on a stand. More candles provided light and the air was warm despite the lack of a fireplace.

The Dark One's face softened as he looked down into the bassinet. "Hmm. I won't disturb your sleep, lad, but I've found someone for you." He beckoned to Belle. "This is the Lady Belle..."

Belle moved closer and braced herself, not sure what she would find in the blanket. To her surprise, it looked like a perfectly ordinary human baby. She smiled in delight. "Hello, little one! I'm your new caretaker."

"Ye-es." The Dark One narrowed his eyes at her. "Let's hope she knows what she's doing. If any harm comes to Bae while I'm gone—"

"Wait, you're leaving?"

"There is a small matter of an ogre invasion someone wanted me to do something about..."

"Oh. Right, sorry!" Belle didn't know what she had expected. For him to have poofed the ogres away with a snap of his fingers? "Gods. My father..."

"Should be fine. Now..." The Dark One glared sternly at Belle. "While I'm away, my mother will be watching _you_. So don't let any mad notions into that head of yours."

"'Mad notions'? 'Mother'?" Belle's questions landed on empty air — the Dark One had disappeared in a cloud of maroon smoke.

 _I told him to find someone kind. Someone brave. Are you brave, child?_ The cold voice seemed to slither down her spine. _Are you kind?_

Belle gasped and spun around. "What? Who's there!"

The baby, roused by her shouts, woke up audibly with a thin cry of complaint, intermittent grunts that grew into a continuous wail.

"Oh, no, no, don't, no, everything's going to be ok." Belle reached down gingerly, hesitating. Did the baby have magic, too? What if... Belle took a deep breath, reminding herself that she could hardly back out now. A baby was a baby, wasn't it? She scooped up the bundle and rocked it inexpertly in her arms. "Shh, hush now, sleep..."

 _No chance of that, dear. It's been two hours since he was last fed._

Belle pretended she didn't hear. She refused to even turn her head around; her neck felt stiff with the refusal. Gods. The Dark One had a _mother?_ That chilly disembodied voice belonged to nothing human. She murmured at the baby, "There, there. Are you hungry, hmm? Let's find you something to eat..."

Ignoring the prickle of eyes on her back, Belle made a quick inventory of the room. She found a small ceramic bottle with a long neck, its lingering scent of milk cluing her in to its use. She filled it from a jar she found in a cabinet. The bottle came with a soft bit of leather attached to the spout. "Is this how it fits?"

She was about to put the end into the baby's mouth when her limbs froze.

 _Idiot! You need to add a drop of the gold potion first. Are you trying to kill the poor thing?_

A potion? Belle's eyes went to the rack of glass vials on the wall. Her limbs thawed, permitting her to extract the one with the gold liquid. She opened the stopper and sniffed the contents. It could be the elixir of the gods. It could be deadly poison. She stammered, "How... how do I know _this_ won't kill him?"

A wave of amusement washed over her thoughts. _If I wanted to kill him — or you, for that matter — you'd both be dead by now, just like all the others._

Belle shuddered. _The others?_ Belle tried not to think about that as she mixed a drop of the potion into the milk. To her relief, the baby sucked eagerly on the bottle and took no ill from whatever magic had been in the potion. Beyond pointing her to the bathroom, the disembodied voice forbore from further commentary, leaving Belle to puzzle out the workings of the magical fountain that dispensed both hot and cold water and the enchanted bathtub.

But once she had cleaned and changed the baby, Belle was left with the company of her own thoughts, and the longer she sat there, the louder her thoughts became. The reality of her situation came crashing down on her.

 _It's forever, dearie_ , the Dark One had warned her.

And now she was trapped in the lair of the darkest and most powerful sorcerer (some said demon) in the realm, never to see her family and friends again. The thought of all those lonely months and years ahead of her was too much to bear. She whimpered, her eyes tearing up. Trapped with the Dark One _and_ his mother, whom Belle couldn't even see, this ghostly presence who could kill her on a whim. Her father might never even know her fate. No one would know.

Belle broke down sobbing.

A vicious, scornful voice cut through her sobs. "And here I thought I'd acquired a caretaker, not another squalling babe!"

Belle squeaked and sat up. She choked down the lump in her throat. "You..."

The Dark One waggled a finger in her face. "This crying must stop. I won't have my son surrounded by misery!"

"You're not the only one who has a family," Belle retorted indignantly. "I miss them, you beast." She was about to go off on him, then remembered that she couldn't let herself be distracted by his rudeness. "My family! Are they all right?"

"Yes, yes. Congratulations on your little war!" He tossed a folded paper at her.

Belle recognized her father's seal, then broke it open to read the letter. It was as the Dark One said: the ogres were all in retreat. She looked at the Dark One, stunned. How much power did it take to drive back an entire army? "You did all that in just a few hours?"

"A few hours for you. A few days for me." The Dark One made a stylized flourish with his hands. "Magic, dearie!"

"But... but how did you do it? Did you... kill them all?" Their deal had not specified any details. The image of the young ogre, wounded by Gaston's traps and tortures, came to her mind, and Belle felt sick at the thought that her people had called death down on a whole race.

The Dark One eyed her for a long moment. "And if I did? Having second thoughts?"

Belle swallowed heavily. "I... I just want to know. If... if I'm responsible for... for a massacre." If she was, she didn't know how she could ever expiate that guilt now.

"Hmm. As it happens, no, I didn't kill them." He turned away, pacing across the room. He cackled again in his unnerving way and waved his hands. "...this time. Even ogres have heard of the Dark One."

"Oh." Belle's voice dropped to a whisper. "Then... what did you do to them?"

"A few threats, a few bribes. Let's just say that they had the wisdom to accept my offer of weregild for their princeling... and to agree henceforth to send their youth elsewhere than the Frontlands to prove their courage."

Belle gaped. "Wait... 'princeling'? You mean the ogre child Gaston captured?"

"The youngest son of the ogre king," the Dark One confirmed, turning back to face her.

"And you know all this because... you can speak their language!" As the implications sank in, Belle felt a surge of vindication. She had been _right_. They _could_ have negotiated with the ogres, if anyone had bothered trying to talk to them.

"Obviously." The Dark One grinned at her. "A skill your people clearly lack, or they wouldn't have slaughtered the diplomatic party the ogres sent to the king of Westmark."

"Diplomatic party? Gaston said it was a raid!"

"Not to put too fine a point on it, but your beloved is a bloodthirsty oaf."

Belle flushed. "It... it was an arranged marriage. I don't... I could never love Gaston."

"Be that as it may, your father and your people are safe. From the ogres, at least," the Dark One said, his voice low and oddly gentle. "And vice versa, one hopes."

"Then... then I thank you." Belle dropped to the floor and knelt in formal gratitude. "On behalf of all the folk of the Frontlands."

The Dark One snorted. He grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her to her feet, the softness vanishing from his expression. "Well, I didn't bring you here to chatter!" He dropped the contact immediately as if it burned him.

Belle hid a smile as she rubbed her wrist. Maybe her deal wasn't that bad after all. Maybe the _Dark One_ wasn't. After all, he had treated the ogres less cruelly than Gaston — who remained a good man in the eyes of Belle's world. And he hadn't brushed off her questions, however rude some of his answers had been. So maybe the monster was a mask, and the man underneath was someone worth knowing better.

Time would tell.


	3. The Caretaker

"Why isn't there a door?" Belle wrapped her arms around herself, shivering as she peered down into the dark stairwell. Other parts of the castle were lit with everlasting candles. Other parts of the castle were shut off by heavy wooden doors and illusions, entire passages eluding Belle (even when she could see them from the upper galleries). A cold draft touched her face. "What's down there?"

The Dark One had shown her the stairwell specifically to warn her away. "Don't go sticking your nose in, little mouse. You might lose it. Or worse."

"Does that mean you can't use magic to keep people out?" Belle stared harder, wondering how far down the stairs extended. "Why isn't it lit?"

"To discourage idle curiosity." The Dark One had come up behind her, far too close for comfort, and she could feel his breath stirring her hair. "Some things rest easier in the dark."

Belle stilled at the touch of his hands on her waist, but didn't turn. She recovered her scattered wits enough to retort, "Well, it isn't working. What things? Are you one of them?"

"Never you mind. Just stay out. There's nothing down there but a world of pain." Then he was gone again. This time Belle did turn her head, only to see him striding off without a backward glance.

Belle lingered a moment longer. How literally did he mean _that?_ Was it a gateway to the underworld? To hell? Was the Dark One truly a demon? Were there more demons down there? Could they get out? On that thought, Belle hurried after him.

The kitchen was next on the tour. It was grand enough to serve a royal castle, but obviously little-used. All the cooking implements were perfectly clean, perfectly in place. Belle found ample stores of flour, salt, dried spices, and the like — all untouched.

"I take it you don't employ any cooks." Belle ran a finger along an immaculate wooden countertop.

"I don't eat... human food." The Dark One looked at her. "But you need it. And Baelfire will. Do you know how to cook?"

Belle shook her head. "Not really."

The Dark One muttered something about pampered nobility. Then he flicked his wrist, summoning a book to his hand in a puff of smoke. He slid the book across the counter to Belle. "But you do know how to read?"

"Of course." It was an elementary cookbook. Belle flipped through the pages, but her hope that it contained spells for food magic was quickly dashed. She sighed, wondering how long it would take before her skills were up to snuff.

"And for anything else you need..." The Dark One gestured again, and a giant horn as long as he was tall appeared on the counter. He reached into the hollow base, pulling out an apple and tossing it to Belle.

She fumbled the catch, her thoughts occupied with wondering what kind of beast the horn could have come from. Then she stared at the apple, realizing. "A cornucopia!"

"Indeed." He looked at her speculatively. "A well-read princess, then."

"Duke's daughter."

"Yes, yes, as you say."

Kitchen, bedroom, nursery, bathroom. Belle settled into her new life, not lacking for anything material, even if her first attempts at cooking were crude at best. At least she hadn't set the kitchen on fire. To her surprise, the Dark One actually spent more time with his infant son than most noblemen ever did, and he hardly seemed evil when making silly faces at a baby, no matter his reputation. Ofttimes he would leave Bae on a rug on the floor to play with a hanging mobile of wooden animals while he sat at his spinning wheel, turning straw into gold.

Well, that was one question answered. Belle watched them surreptitiously under the excuse that the great hall was unhealthily dusty and needed to be cleaned. By her. Without magic. The Dark One humored her, shooting her a sarcastic look when she volunteered for the task.

"Spying on the monster? You wouldn't be the first, dearie."

It was only when he was out pursuing deals that he really needed someone to look after Bae.

"Back in a few days," he said, not bothering with any other good-bye before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.

"Does he mean a few days for him, or a few days for us?" Belle asked the baby.

 _Both._

Belle bit back a yelp and a twinge of annoyance. He must have set his mother on Belle again. What was the point of hiring a caretaker he didn't trust?

 _Too much time-magic disorders the senses._ The Dark One's mother sounded like she was standing right next to Belle.

Belle refused to look, knowing she would see nothing. So the Dark One hadn't magicked her this time — it was a start. By early afternoon, the Dark One's mother seemed to have become bored and wandered off to haunt some other part of the castle, leaving Belle alone in the nursery to untangle the baby carrier she had uncovered.

Half an hour later, feeling smug about successfully strapping Baelfire to her back like some peasant woman, Belle decided it was time for a stroll. "Some fresh air will be nice. Shall we take a look around the garden?"

Baelfire gurgled in apparent approval, enjoying the motion. He was just old enough to hold his head up and look around at everything. Unfortunately, cold sheets of rain had turned the garden into a sea of mud.

"Um. Maybe we'll just go for a turn around the castle," Belle told Baelfire. Quite unintentionally, she ended up at the top of the mysterious forbidden stairwell. She told herself to ignore it and firmly walked on. Then her footsteps slowed. Stopped. She turned back. "No. We are not doing this."

She stared down into the darkness. "Has your papa ever told you the story of Bluebeard, Baelfire? Did he ever let slip that he was, in fact, the inspiration for the tale?"

No. This was ridiculous, Belle told herself. It was just a silly fairy tale. Or was it? How did she know the Dark One wasn't lulling her into a false sense of security? What if she and Bae were only the latest in a long line of murdered caretakers and infants?

"Well. Maybe just a peek? As long as I don't step in blood or drop anything, we should be fine." Belle took a candelabra from a table down the hallway and thrust it into the darkness. No monsters, dead bodies, or trails of blood were revealed. "Of course he wouldn't leave them lying right at the top of the stairs."

She knew it wasn't rational, but she couldn't get the gruesome illustrations from her mother's edition of "Bluebeard" out of her mind. And she didn't even have any noble brothers to ride to her rescue. "I'll go down a little bit. Just to make sure."

The baby made no objection, burbling softly at the sound of Belle's voice. One step down. Two. Perfectly ordinary stone stairs... spiraling down into gods knew what. Belle gulped, trying not to speculate. Just once around, and then she would go back and forget the whole thing. Two times around, for her peace of mind.

Then, rising faintly out of the depths, came the sound of someone crying. Someone young and human.

Her candelabra went out.

 _Gods._ This had been a mistake. Belle's blood ran cold as darkness pressed in around her. The crying became more insistent. _It's probably an illusion._ "Hello? Is... is someone there? Do you need help?"

Not that she would be much use when she couldn't even see. Maybe she could go back upstairs for another light. Belle cautiously shuffled around to head back.

And came face to face with the pale woman who had been standing behind her. A woman all in black with glowing red eyes.

Belle shrieked and swung the candelabra at the apparition.

The woman caught the candelabra and wrenched it from Belle's grasp. Flames once again danced atop the candles. "Stupid girl. Didn't my son warn you not to come down here?"

"Your... your son?" Recognition came at last for the voice that had previously only been in Belle's head. The Dark One's mother. She looked far too young, but Belle could sense the power behind the innocent facade.

"And you've brought _his_ son with you. Go. Before it's too late for both of you." The Dark One's mother stood to one side, and Belle didn't wait to ask "too late for what" before climbing up the stairs as quickly as she dared.

The light upstairs was dimmer than it had been when she left. The sound of crying followed her, but when she looked back, she only saw the grim figure of the Dark One's mother.

"Ignore the crying. Back to the nursery with you."

Belle nodded, teeth chattering with sudden cold. The room was warmer than the castle corridors, but now she missed the comforting blaze of a fireplace. She unfastened the baby carrier and took Baelfire out, examining him carefully. "Is he harmed?"

"He can see me. As can you," said the Dark One's mother. She stood just inside the door, making no move to approach. "That means you have fallen too far into my world."

"Y-your world? Who — or what — are you, exactly?" The door and walls of the nursery hadn't shut out the sound of crying. Did that also come from the other world?

"I'm known as the Black Fairy."

"A _fairy_? You're a fairy? And your son is the Dark One... is the Dark One a fairy, too?" Belle was gobsmacked.

"My son is himself. But his child is as you are, and you must bind yourselves back to your world, before Baelfire becomes another voice crying in the dark."

"How?"

"Find something that reminds you of who you are. Who you should be."

Belle thought at once of her mother's copy of _Her Handsome Hero._ Belle had carried it with her ever since her mother's death. Reading it aloud was as good as a magical incantation. "This is the first book that my mother ever read to me. It's all I have left of her. When I read it, it's as if she's still here, looking after me."

"A mother's love. Good choice." The Black Fairy nodded at Belle to continue.

The familiar words settled around her, a warm blanket driving back the darkness. The light regained its brightness, and the Black Fairy faded from sight.

The sound of crying persisted for longer, invading Belle's dreams, so the next day, and the next one day after that, she read again to Baelfire from her book. "'...but Gideon was unafraid. He drew his sword and turned to face the evil sorcerer, ready to save the people he loved.'"

The book vanished from her hand in a puff of smoke.

"Hey!" Belle looked up in shock to see the Dark One at the door.

He glowered at her, book in hand. "What nonsense have you been filling my son with? Teaching him to kill the evil sorcerer!?"

"What? No!" Belle stood up, holding Bae one-handed as she extended the other towards the sorcerer. "It's called 'fiction'. And that's my book! Give it back at once." Provoked by his rudeness, Belle lost any semblance of politeness on her own part.

Instead of returning the book, the Dark One snatched his son from Belle. "He's not spending another moment listening to your poison!" Then he vanished.

Belle stamped her foot impotently. "Damn that man!"

* * *

"What has that woman been telling you, hmm?" Rumplestiltskin tapped his son's nose, careful not to scratch him with a claw. "The 'heroic Gideon', indeed. Hmmph!"

"It is just a book, dear," said his mother.

Rumplestiltskin swiveled around to stare at her. "A story can be a deadly weapon. I don't trust it. I don't trust her. All sweetness and light, what is she hiding?"

His mother shrugged. "Maybe she reads too much. She does come up with the most outlandish fancies... did you know she thought you were Bluebeard?"

"Blue... blue... Ha! Her eyes are too blue," he muttered. He paced back and forth across his room in agitation. "Unnaturally blue... just like that blue bug's magic..."

"She's not the only one with a wild imagination, I see." His mother crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him reprovingly. "Don't let your paranoia run away with you."

"It's not paranoia. Just last month, Reul Ghorm tried to set Maleficent on us."

"I trust it won't be a problem..."

"The old dragon wasn't having any of it. But those fools in the Frontlands take Blue's words for gospel."

"Belle doesn't strike me as one to hew to the orthodoxy."

"But she's young, naive." Rumplestiltskin stopped pacing, seeing her in his mind's eye, bargaining for the lives of her people and trusting him to keep the bargain. "The duke sent for both of us. How do I know that blue insect didn't get to his daughter first?"

* * *

Belle and the Dark One avoided each other for the next two days. With him keeping charge of Baelfire, there was little for Belle to do. She made some attempts at pastry, but baking was a depressing endeavor when she had no one to share her successes with.

Staring down at a tray of little square pear tarts, she had an epiphany. Just because the Dark One didn't eat human food didn't mean he _couldn't_. Fairies were known to eat, after all, and his mother said she was a fairy. Maybe he was just grumpy and unreasonable from lack of real food. Belle added a teapot and cups to the tray. She set off at once for the great hall before her courage could falter.

The Dark One sat spinning while his son played at his feet. At Belle's entrance, he stopped and gawked at her. "What the hell is _that_?"

"Tea," she snapped, liquid slopping out from the pot as she set the tray down a tad too forcefully on the dining table. "And I made pear tarts with flaky pie crusts."

"Whatever for?"

Belle rolled her eyes and poured out two cups. "You drink the tea and eat the pastries. Some people add milk and sugar to the tea, but personally I find that a barbaric custom." She carried a cup and a pear tart over to the Dark One. "Here."

He blinked at her wonderingly. "For... for me?"

She couldn't help smiling at the look on his face. Well. The Dark One would hardly be invited to social occasions, would he? Saddened by the thought, Belle dropped her gaze, watching out of the corner of her eye as he took the tart and nibbled gingerly at a corner.

"Don't think you can poison the Dark One, dearie," he blustered.

"You have poison on the mind," scoffed Belle. "First you suspect my poor innocent book — my _mother's_ book, and you may borrow it, but you're to give it back once you're done reading—"

"You think I'm reading a single word of that tripe?" He drew himself up to express his disdain, but there was a furtive twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Aha! You have, haven't you?" Belle tried not to laugh at the guilty look on his face. "And now you're accusing me of poisoning your tea?"

"Hmmph." He snatched the cup from her and lifted it to his lips for a sip.

 _*CRASH*_

Belle squawked and jumped back, then realized the noise had come from above them. The Dark One looked just as startled, losing his grip on the tea cup and causing a smaller, secondary crash as porcelain hit the floor.

"That came from the north gallery," he snarled, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"Wait!" Belle scooped Baelfire up from the floor and hurried towards the north gallery. She arrived out of breath and half-collapsed against the door frame. She pushed it open a crack and peered inside to see the Dark One standing on the other side with his back to her. "What's going on?"

"Belle!" The Dark One turned his head and urgently shooed her away. "Don't—" An arrow whistled through the air and struck him in the chest.

Belle gasped in horror, finally spotting the intruder lurking across the room. He sent a second and third arrow in rapid succession. But as he was nocking the fourth arrow, an invisible force tore bow and arrow from his hands and lifted him into the air.

"I don't think so, dearie." The Dark One made a show of plucking the arrows from his chest. There was no sign of blood, and even his pierced vest mended itself in a ripple of magic. "Trying to rob the Dark One? Are you sure you can afford the price?"

To Belle's dismay, the Dark One hung the thief up in a dungeon cell.

"Take Bae upstairs," he ordered Belle. "He doesn't need to see this."

Or hear it. Belle shuddered as she heard the thief screaming in pain already before she made it out of hearing range.

 _It's amateur theatre hour, I see. My son does like his drama._

Belle whipped around at the voice, but of course the Black Fairy was nowhere to be seen. Belle hissed at the empty air, "How can you make fun of that poor man's suffering?"

 _Never mind. There's no talking to either of you, is there? Carry on._

Belle gritted her teeth and reminded herself that it wouldn't help to pick fights with both mother and son simultaneously. Luckily, the Black Fairy kept any further thoughts to herself and left Belle in peace after that.

She confronted the Dark One afterwards when he found her and Bae in the great hall. "You don't have to do this."

"He tried to steal from me." He gesticulated, explaining his plan to skin the thief alive and leave the body as a warning.

"But... does he deserve death? He must be really desperate. How can you kill him without knowing the full story?"

"I don't recall him asking for mine before trying to turn me into a pincushion," retorted the Dark One.

Belle sighed and pointed out, "But you're fine."

"But what if he had shot at you, or Bae? No, no, no, this cannot stand."

No, what couldn't stand was Belle's complaisance with this brutality. Taking her chance when the Dark One was occupied with his son, Belle snuck down into the dungeon to free the prisoner. He tried to convince her to run away with her, but she was in the Dark Castle for her family's sake, and even though she didn't _think_ the Dark One would avenge her betrayal on them, the deal had been struck.

He was, however, furious at _her_. "You let him go, you foolish, gullible girl, and he took a wand with him!"

"What? There... there must be some explanation," stammered Belle. The thief had good in him, she had seen it, and he had been punished enough.

The Dark One snorted. "We'll see about that." He went on at length, promising blood and pain for the escaped thief.

Belle hugged Baelfire close, praying that he wouldn't be upset by his father's violent rage. The Dark One insisted on both of them accompanying him on his mission of vengeance, conjuring horses, carriage, and driver for them. After an encounter with a drunken lout of a sheriff ("a night with your wench" indeed!), they caught up with the thief in Sherwood Forest.

They watched, hidden behind the Dark One's cloaking spell, as the thief used the stolen wand to heal his heavily pregnant wife. The Dark One set Baelfire down, the gentle motions shifting into something far deadlier as he then took out the thief's own bow and nocked an arrow. He drew back the string with ease, startling Belle with his strength.

"No," she pleaded. The thief didn't have magic; he would certainly die. But the Dark One couldn't be that heartless. "You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless."

She was right. The arrow missed.

Belle and the Dark One watched, half-dazed, as the thief and his lady fled the scene. As the truth sank in, Belle was overcome by relief — that the Dark One really _wasn't_ as dark as he claimed, that she had been right about him — and giddy enough to simply hug him. He was stiff and awkward under her touch, but it didn't matter. She _knew_ , even when he hemmed and hawed and pretended that it was none of his doing that the thief had escaped. He fooled no one with his claim of boredom as reason enough to end this expedition.

Belle smiled and turned towards their carriage. She glanced back after a moment, finding the Dark One still gazing at her in stunned disbelief. Then he picked up his son and came after her.

Back at the Dark Castle, he barely met her eyes when he mumbled, "There's, ah, there's another room I forgot to show you before. Come along, no dawdling..."

A library. He had a library. Of course he had a library, but now he was willing to share it with her.

"It's beautiful." Belle looked around in awe at the walls covered with bookshelves, but the Dark One merely grunted a gruff dismissal.

"I think it's time you availed yourself of some new reading material, instead of filling your head with heroic ideals from that novel of yours," he said haughtily. But he had left _Her Handsome Hero_ out on a table in plain view, clearly returning it to her.

She picked up her mother's book, unable to suppress her grin. "Thank you! There's more books in here than I could read in a lifetime."

"What are you smiling at? I'm serious. I won't have my son growing up in ignorance, that's all." He wagged a finger as he spoke.

Belle caught his hand, still smiling. "You're not who I thought you were. And I'm glad."

* * *

"She's not who you thought she was, is she?" Fiona said, sounding smug as always.

"Yes, yes." Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes on his work bench. He was trying a new recipe for a bovine health potion, and any distraction could ruin the whole batch. "A prisoner — a man who already tried to kill me — and she merely let him go, with no secret tricks of magic on her part, out of pure kindness. She's innocent."

"Exactly. If Blue really had planted her, this Robin Hood fellow was the perfect chance to get at you, even if Belle is too soft to wield the blade with her own hands."

"Hmmph."

"Though she's a tad slow on the uptake. You're lucky she didn't notice how nimbly your prisoner was able to scuttle off despite the unspeakable tortures you supposedly inflicted on him."

"We had a deal," muttered Rumplestiltskin.

"Well, it seems to have worked out. I think perhaps you can trust her."

"What's the use? She'll never..." snarled Rumplestiltskin before he could stop himself. He didn't finish the thought, not even sure why it had the power to upset him so. He sighed and returned his attention to the potion. (Tea. Pear tarts. She had made them for _him_ , and clumsy fool that he was, he had dropped them and ended up frightening her with his potential for violence.)

* * *

He always took his tea from the same cup, the one he had dropped. It was chipped, but he pretended not to notice.

Belle thought it was endearing. Afternoon tea had become a new ritual for them. She would serve the tea with whatever baked goods she had learned to make, and he would ask her about whatever books she had read, his own opinions hidden under a layer of snark.

"So what did you think of _Her Handsome Hero_?" she asked one day when she was feeling bold.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "It was... not completely terrible."

"Did you hear that, Bae?" Belle wiggled a toy in front of Baelfire, who had recently learned to sit up by himself. "Maybe your papa will let me read the rest to you."

* * *

By spring, Baelfire had learned to roll around and crawl — backwards. Belle made sure the floor of the great hall was clean and safe for his explorations. Fearing that his son would accidentally strangle himself on gold thread or choke on straw, the Dark One had temporarily given up his spinning. Instead, he sat at his bench enchanting magic cloaks — ones with no detachable choking hazards.

Belle hauled in a ladder and climbed up to tug at the curtains.

"Whatever are you doing?" The Dark One had come over to peer up at her.

"Opening these. We should let some light in." But the curtains were nailed down. Belle frowned, suddenly uncertain. "There _are_ windows behind these, aren't there?"

"It's called the 'Dark Castle' for a reason."

"Well, I think all this gloom is—" At that moment, she succeeded in yanking the heavy curtain from the wall. Unfortunately, she came down with it. For one terrifying moment, she felt herself falling...

...only to land in the Dark One's arms. Both of them stared at each other, stunned.

"Thank you," Belle finally managed, over the pounding of her heart.

The Dark One looked almost puzzled. Then he set her down and backed away, dusting off his hands. "No matter."

Sunlight streamed in through the newly exposed windows. Belle fumbled with the fallen curtain. "I'll, uh, put this back up."

"No, no, leave it." The Dark One gazed at the window, his voice soft and tinged with astonishment. "There's no need. I'll get used to it."

Belle smiled, unaccountably pleased at the change and his acceptance of it. Somehow, somewhere along the way, this place had begun feeling like _home_ to her, and the Dark One more like a friend than an employer. More than that, she didn't dare contemplate.

* * *

Belle began to think, after witnessing him stuck full of arrows and shrugging it off like it was nothing, that the Dark One was truly invulnerable. Later that spring, she learned that she was wrong.

He had been summoned that morning for a deal. He returned mere minutes later in a haze of gray smoke, collapsing two steps after he staggered into the great hall. His coat was ripped to shreds. Everything was splattered with fresh blood, and Belle couldn't tell if it was his own or not.

"What...?" Belle scrambled to her feet, leaving Bae for the moment as she ran to check on his father. "What happened?"

The Dark One lay curled on his side, hands pressed to his chest. He shifted his head, reptilian eyes blinking open, unfocused. His breathing was harsh, labored. "...Belle?"

"I'm here. You're bleeding! Let me help... I... I'll..." She didn't know what she would do. She reached for him, intending to help him staunch the bleeding, but his skin was _burning_. A flash of heat rushed over her, half-blinding her, and she cried out, reflexively covering her face.

 _Fairy dust and light magic._ The Black Fairy's cold voice seeped into their minds. _There's nothing to be done for him in this world._

"No!" Belle reached out again, this time for his shoulder, where the remains of his coat provided a buffer, offering what comfort she could. "You can't... can't _die_... Bae needs his papa! Hold on, please. Your magic must be powerful enough—"

The Dark One chuckled weakly, a strangled sound forced through the pain. "Not... dying. Just..." He lifted a hand in a ghost of his usual flamboyant gesture. Then his skin cracked apart, a spiderweb of fault lines that burst into blue fire. Within seconds, nothing remained but a scattering of ashes.

Belle clapped her hands to her mouth, biting back an appalled scream. She whispered, "'Not dying', he said." She hoped it was the truth.

 _A close call_ , said the Dark One's mother. _But he will... return. In time. I shall see to his care. As you must see to his son._

"Right. Of course I will." Belle swallowed her fears and resolved not to distress Baelfire, who was now sitting up and staring wide-eyed at her.

"Ba-ba?"

Belle scooped him up into her lap, hugging him protectively. "Papa has to be away for a while, but he'll be back. Grandma is helping him, so it's just the two of us right now."

Just the two of them. Belle had never felt so lonely in the Dark Castle as she did now. The silence was oppressive, the candles gone out except for the ones she lit herself. The rooms and corridors stayed put, no longer shifting about to confuse her, but that stillness only added to her unease. At night, her dreams were once again troubled by the cries of unseen children. This time, she thought she could hear the Dark One's voice among them, whimpering in pain.

* * *

In the dark realm, Rumplestiltskin dragged himself onto the bed he had once slept in, centuries ago. The mask of the Dark One had been utterly destroyed — the mask that he had been wearing for so long that it had grown roots in his soul. Its destruction had nearly ripped him apart, and it _hurt_.

But he couldn't let _them_ know that. He had to recraft his other shape, had to maintain the illusion of immortality. Had to...

"Who's 'them', darling?"

Had he spoken aloud? Rumplestiltskin stuffed a knuckle into his mouth.

His mother sat down on the bed beside him. He felt her magic working through his wounds, patching him back together. "What happened?"

Panting slightly, he gasped out his reply, "A trap happened. They used a boy as bait."

"Reul Ghorm," said his mother, her voice low and filled with venom.

"Who else?" He shut his eyes, sinking into sleep.

* * *

"Why does the Blue Fairy want to kill you?" Belle was both relieved and worried when the Dark One re-emerged half a month later, and had demanded explanations from him. He obliged, and had somehow ended up sitting next to her on the dining table — holding her hand.

The Dark One chuckled wryly. "I'm the Dark One. An affront to all that is light and good in her world."

"You're not!" Belle protested. She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "You're a good man."

"Not really." He wouldn't meet her eyes.

 _The Blue Fairy wanted him as her tame Savior,_ his mother broke in. _To live and die at her order. But I cut his fate when he was an infant._

"Cut... cut his fate?" Belle had never heard of such a thing. She didn't even believe in fate, preferring to trust that free will meant something.

"It was a horrible fate. No loss, I'm sure," said the Dark One. "I have no desire to be one of that blue bug's little minions."

 _But now she thinks you're a mad dog that needs to be put down._

"She can think what she likes. She can't touch us in the dark realm, unless she wants to exile _herself_ there."

He seemed confident enough, and Belle hoped he was right. "The dark realm. That's where you're from? What's at the bottom of the stairs?"

The Dark One nodded.

"I went down... just a little way," she confessed. "Maybe your mother told you about that."

The Dark One let out a breath. "Foolish girl."

"Sometimes," she whispered haltingly, "Sometimes I can still hear the crying. Can you... can you hear them, too?"

The Dark One shut his eyes. "Oh yes. I always hear them."

"Oh."

The Dark One turned, opening his eyes to meet hers. "Don't you cry, too. There's nothing you can do for them. They're... the dark realm is haunted by the memories of lost children. That's all."

Haunted? _He looks haunted,_ thought Belle. _Is that why he pretends not to care?_ "I'm sorry."

"The world is a vile, dangerous place. Not your fault." He broke off abruptly, loosing her hand and hopping off the table. He turned to go.

"It's not your fault, either," said Belle, not wanting him to leave. "Even if you call yourself the 'Dark One'."

The Dark One stopped in his tracks. "Rumplestiltskin."

"What...?" Belle stared at his back in confusion.

"My name."

"Rumple..."

"...stiltskin." Then he did turn around, his mask back in place as he giggled. "Don't go carelessly bandying it about, mind!"

Belle smiled, watching him poof away in a dramatic cloud of smoke. The world might be a vile, dangerous place, but she felt safer with him in it.

* * *

 **Author's note:** The world being what it is, I wanted to write some Dark Castle fluff to take my mind off things. So, pausing the story on a positive note as I head into NaNoWriMo tomorrow, lol.


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